Bird-scream bustle you
tangled arms and cars
pushing and pulsing with dreams
caught in your throats—gag—
wait—is that a dagger
I see before me? Could it be
the space between the subway
and the unending?
No one wants you
at this party.
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See AllMy house but the rooms are not mine. Here is where I sat to escape my death, here the mirror of the many faces. Each room says “where?” and invites me out into its own obscure machinations.
Follow the tracks the crows make the splintered blue imprints of trees in water. Impressed by pond scum leap over this into that green into green.
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